


Composing Hallelujah

by orphan_account



Category: Gymnastics RPF, Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Hidden Talents, M/M, Music, Singing, Slow Build, Tyler!Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 2016 Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro are to be the stage for the swan song of two great athletes, gymnast Sasha Artemev and swimmer Ryan Lochte. What neither of them are aware of is that with a just a few verses from a song their fates will become intertwined for all of eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Sasha Artemev ends up having a room all to himself in the Village during the Rio de Janeiro Games. Why? Because of the simple fact that he's managed to drive every other person on the US Men's Gymnastics Team out of their minds with his quirky rituals and strange daily ablutions.

“Dude, you're like the Rain Man.” Jonathan Horton says in an exasperated tone when Sasha finally asks why everyone decided to let him have the single suite. “You talk in your sleep. You sing in the shower. You take over both of the dressers because you can't have your socks in the same drawer as your boxers or your undershirts in the same drawer as your gym shorts. You're up at four thirty in the morning puttering around, cleaning shit that's already clean because you cleaned it before you went to bed the previous night, but for some reason you have to clean again anyway. And all of this takes place with all the lights on and the radio turned up as loud as it will go even when you know that not only are the rest of us still asleep but we also want to stay asleep for another three hours. You're the roommate from Hell!”

All Sasha manages to say after that is, “Oh, okay.”

He feels a little insulted, but he can understand what an important time it is for his teammates so he doesn't complain. It's an important time for Sasha too. This is his last year, his last chance, and he wants gold. He wants it so bad he thinks that he just might die for it... or worse, kill for it. Sasha lets out a sigh and shakes his head, trying to keep from psyching himself out before the competition has even started. Instead, Sasha settles into his temporary home and readies his body for the arduous task his routines will put him through within the next two weeks.

After he unpacks he draws himself a bath in the spacious tub, gathers a cinnamon ginger bath bomb from his toiletries and drops it into the steaming water. He watches it fizz up as he shrugs out of his clothes. He then sinks slowly into the spicy scented water, bends his legs, pulls them to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. Sasha feels the heat from the water soak down into his muscles and he finds himself singing under his breath. As he relaxes further his words become more pronounced and soon he's singing audibly, not caring who hears.

\--

Ryan Lochte is on the prowl.

Rather than unpacking like most of his Olympic compatriots are doing, Ryan has taken to the halls of the Village dorms wearing his favorite pair of bedazzled green high-top sneakers, a matching pair of green board shorts, and his American flag grill. He listens to the snippets of conversation that flow out into the corridor as he saunters along, passing some doors that are open and some others that are closed. When he catches his name being thrown around by various people Ryan can't help smirking around a mouthful of platinum and jewels. They say that this is his year. They say Rio is his time to shine now that Phelps has retired and Ryan can't agree more. Each mention of his name has him walking a little taller, his chest puffed out a little further. Then something unexpected draws his ear toward the end of the corridor. Something soft and melodic, barely noticeable above the activity of the dorm's other occupants. Someone is singing.... very well, in fact.

“Who is that?” Ryan thinks to himself as his steps quicken; his body carrying him down the hall almost involuntarily. “Who is that?” Ryan wonders again, his words under his breath this time. His feet take him to the very last door in the hallway, which stands slightly ajar as if someone meant to close it but didn't put enough force behind their touch.

Ryan knows he shouldn't go in but his curiosity gets the better of him just like it always does. He nudges the door open with the toe of his shoe, slides inside when there's enough space for him to do so without making any noise. Ryan looks around the room, listens carefully to the singing coming from behind the bathroom door.

The voice sings, " _I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you?"_

Ryan feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and he finds himself pressing his ear to the bathroom door, trying to hear the singer more clearly. The sound is intoxicating.

The voice continues, singing out, “ _Well it goes like this. The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift. The baffled king composing Hallelujah._ ”

“You have to know,” Ryan's brain tells him. “You have to know who's singing that song.” And against his better judgment Ryan agrees, reaches up and turns the doorknob until the door opens. He steps back as the door swings outward, hears a gasp as the person in the bathroom realizes he’s there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 2016 Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro are to be the stage for the swan song of two great athletes, gymnast Sasha Artemev and swimmer Ryan Lochte. What neither of them are aware of is that with a just a few verses from a song their fates will become intertwined for all of eternity.

* * *

“There’s someone in the tub,” a part of Ryan’s brain tells him. “A tiny blonde girl with a very flat chest and a butch haircut.”

“Correction! Correction!” screams another part of Ryan’s brain. “That’s a tiny blonde guy in the tub.”

Which is the exact opposite of what Ryan thought he would find when he first sought out the owner of the mysterious voice that floated down the hall, beckoning him to come closer and discover it’s origins. The guy gasps, huddles in on himself to shield his private parts from view and that’s when Ryan realizes that he’s standing in the doorway like a total stalker-slash-serial killer. “Oh,” Ryan says, “Uh.... Hi, I guess.”

“What the hell are you doing in here?!” the guy growls, slightly accented voice sounding more annoyed than surprised. “You’re not supposed to be in here. This is a single person room!”

“I was just... I mean... you and, um... I heard in the the hallway.... so I, um, because singing and uh,” Ryan fights to find the adequate words to express himself. He feels like he’s giving an interview and like in most of his interviews, he’s making an ass of himself.

“I would appreciate it if you would leave, Mr. Lochte” the guy says.

“You know my name?” Ryan asks.

“Of course I do.” he says. “Everyone knows your name. Please get out.”

“Will you, uh, tell me your name?” Ryan asks.

“Will it make you leave?” the smaller man asks.

Ryan nods.

“My name is Sasha Artemev” the blonde says resolutely. “Now get the fuck out.”

Ryan nods, gives a weak smile as a peace offering, and gets the fuck out just like he’s been told to. He shuts the bathroom door and then the door leading to the hallway on his way out. He walks back to his own room in relative silence his eyes focused on his own feet as he goes.

Ryan sighs as he reaches his destination. He enters the room he’ll be sharing with Matt Grevers for the duration of the Games and plops down on the bed nearest the window. He can hear the water running and seeing that the bathroom door is shut he deduces that Matt is in the shower. He lays there for only God knows how long when Matt comes out of the bathroom draped in several towels with one wrapped around his head, making him look like the sultan from Aladdin. Matt is followed out by a large billow of steam and is, as usual, wearing a smile. “Hey, man,” Matt says. “What’s up?”

“Met somebody,” Ryan mumbles. “Kind of an asshole. Good singer though.”

“Lemme guess,” Matt smirks, “short, blonde, cantankerous as all Hell but still somehow polite?”

“What’s cantankerous mean?” Ryan asks.

“It means bad-tempered,” Matt supplies.

“Yeah, that sounds like him.” Ryan nods. “He called me Mr. Lochte.... made me feel like I was back in the tenth grade gettin’ caught skipping class.”

“So you’ve met the Ice Queen” Matt snickers, then in a more serious tone says. “I can’t believe he even talked to you.”

“He didn’t really have a choice not to,” Ryan says. “I was, uh.... kinda standing in his bathroom.”

Matt’s face twists up into an expression that reminds Ryan of a very confused pigeon. “His bathroom? How did you end up there?”

“I heard someone singing from down the hallway.” Ryan explains. “I followed the sound and it turned out to be him. He was singing while he was taking a bath.”

“God, Ryan,” Matt chuckles, “That sounds like the plot of some low budget porno flick.” He pauses to laugh even more. “Oh, man. That shit is priceless.”

“Why did you call him the Ice Queen?” Ryan asks. “Is that a nickname or something? Like from those kid’s books with the talking lion?”

“It’s a nickname of sorts” Matt answers. “It started in Beijing. Michael got one look at him in the dining hall one night and it was on from there. You know how Mike likes those twink-looking dudes. Well, anyway, it was right after Mike beat Cavic and Michael’s up on his high horse havin’ just made history and all when he walks up to Sasha and asks if he and I quote, _‘wants to fuck the guy who just won the closest race in history’_ ”

“What did he do?” Ryan asks.

Matt’s face is almost split clean in half by his smile as he says, “That’s the best part! He looked Mike up and down and said, _‘I’ve got shoes with more sex appeal than you.’_ And then he just walked away like nothing happened.”

“And that’s why you call him Ice Queen?”

“Hell yeah, that’s why,” Matt says. “Bro turned Mike to stone, just like the Ice Queen.”

“I think there’s more to him than that,” Ryan says in a soft, yet definite tone.

“Well, there’s your problem,” Matt smiles. “You’re thinking again. You really shouldn’t do that, Ry. Nothing good ever comes of it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 2016 Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro are to be the stage for the swan song of two great athletes, gymnast Sasha Artemev and swimmer Ryan Lochte. What neither of them are aware of is that with a just a few verses from a song their fates will become intertwined for all of eternity.

* * *

“And the Ice Queen strikes again,” Matt says as he and Ryan watch Sasha weave through the smattering of tables in the dining hall with his tray of various breakfast foodstuffs, sending people scurrying in his wake with a sub-zero glance. The gymnast claims a table far off to the right of all the other ones and sits down, pulling his tray toward him and beginning to eat.

“Maybe I should go talk to him,” Ryan muses as he stirs an obscene amount of creamer into his coffee. “He looks lonely.”

“If that’s what “lonely” looks like then a great white shark is just a goldfish,” Matt intones warily. “That there is a man who is pretty damned determined to be left alone.”

“I’m gonna go say hello,” Ryan says with a decisive nod, picking up his coffee cup as he stands. His chair makes a screeching sound as it slides across the floor.

“Dude, don’t!” Matt says, voice insistent yet somehow also frantic. “Just leave it be. Leave _him_ be.” It’s too late. Ryan’s halfway to where Sasha is sitting before Matt can stop him. Ryan sidles up to Sasha slowly, waits to be addressed before sitting down.

“Good morning, Mr. Lochte,” the smaller man says without even looking up from his plate. “What have I done to warrant your presence?”

“Oh, uh… nothing I guess,” Ryan says sheepishly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I was just wondering if it would be alright if I enjoyed my coffee- uh, near you.”

“That depends” Sasha answers. “How close is ‘ _near_ '?”

“Um, maybe there” Ryan points to the unoccupied chair directly across from Sasha’s.

“I suppose that is a sufficient distance,” Sasha replies. He sets down his fork and indicates to the seat Ryan suggested. “Please, sit.”

Ryan sits, says, “You can, uh, call me Ryan… if you want to. When people say Mr. Lochte I start looking around for my dad.”

Sasha nods, makes an affirmative noise in the back of his throat as he cuts the rather large muffin on his plate in half with his butter knife. “Here,” Sasha thrusts half of the muffin into Ryan’s free hand. “You need more than just coffee. I’ve seen the way you swimmers eat.”

“I can’t really eat like some of the other guys do,” Ryan says. “I usually don’t eat breakfast. Too much sugar in the morning messes with my taper.”

“Just eat it,” Sasha orders in an intimidating voice. “It’s a bran muffin for Christ’s sake. It’s not going to mess up anything.”

Ryan takes a bite out of the muffin, swallows, asks in a tone that conveys his reluctant curiosity, “You always this grumpy?”

“When I’m competing? Yes, I am.” Sasha answers. “Everybody always talks about how they’re honored just to be apart of the Games and that winning is just a bonus. Well, I call bullshit on that right here and now. I came to win. I’m here for a gold medal and I’m not leaving without one; even if I have to rip one from around someone else’s neck and run like Hell.”

Ryan’s eyes go big at the intensity in Sasha’s voice and his imagination gets away from him; it sends him a vision of Sasha’s petite form running away from a mob of Olympic officials, waving a gold medal above his head in triumph. He bursts into laughter, almost choking on the mouthful of muffin he’s chewing. Ryan regains his composure, clears his throat. “I would pay to see that,” Ryan smiles. “Especially, if it was Clary’s medal you swiped.”

“Clary? Is he that beady-eyed asshole whose chin is too big for his face?” Sasha asks.

Ryan laughs again and nods. “That’s him. I take it you don’t like him either?”

Sasha nods back, then elaborates. “He tried to corner me in the dorms the other night,” Sasha says. “He hit on me and then got handsy when I said no so I tased him. He pissed his pants. It was pretty funny.”

“You _tased_ Tyler Clary? In the Olympic Village?” Ryan queries, eyes gone wide. “Where’d did you get a taser? How'd you get it past security?”

“I have my ways,” Sasha says airily, “I’m always packing something.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rather serious looking butterfly knife to prove his point. He flicks the blade out with a turn of his wrist, then flicks it back in. “My freshman year of high school I was four-eleven and I weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet. Getting beat up got really old, really fast.”

“I never had anything like that happen to me,” Ryan confesses. “That must’ve sucked.”

“It did,” Sasha confirms. “Being one of the only openly gay kids in a small, conservative town didn’t help much either.”

“So you’re Out?” Ryan asks. “To, like, everyone?”

“Yes, I am,” Sasha confirms. “I don’t go shouting it from the rooftops but if people ask me I’m honest about it. What about you? I remember Thorpe came out a few years ago.”

“I was never really in, but I never went out of my way to bring it up the way Thorpe did.” Ryan says. “The swimming community is pretty tight knit. If one person knows it’s not long until everyone does.”

“Understandable,” Sasha sighs, then checks his watch. “Would you look at that?” he says, “We’ve managed to fetter away forty-five minutes like it was nothing.”

“It kinda was,” Ryan says. “You’re an easy person to talk to. Ya know, once you get past the _“I Can Kill You With My Brain”_ look you shoot at everyone.”

Sasha laughs, face flushing a subtle hue of rose. He checks his watch again, says, “I have somewhere to be, but I’d like to talk to you again. Stop by my room later, yeah? Around eight?”

“Okay,” Ryan nods. “I will.”

“Bye, Ryan,” Sasha says, gathering up his food tray and heading in the direction of the nearest trash can. He dumps his trash, sets the tray on the little shelf above the trash can and exits the dining hall.

Ryan smiles as he stares down into his cup of coffee which has no doubt gone cold by now, and lets himself wonder just what it would be like to thaw the Ice Queen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 2016 Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro are to be the stage for the swan song of two great athletes, gymnast Sasha Artemev and swimmer Ryan Lochte. What neither of them are aware of is that with a just a few verses from a song their fates will become intertwined for all of eternity.

* * *

Ryan knocks on Sasha’s door at exactly eight o’clock. He steps back from the door when it swings open to reveal Sasha dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a ratty t-shirt about three sizes too big for him. “Come on in,” Sasha says invitingly, scratches at his exposed collarbone when his t-shirt falls off his left shoulder. “You can leave your shoes right there.” Sasha adds, pointing to where his own shoes are lined up in front of the dresser. Ryan slips his feet out of his sneakers and sets them next to Sasha’s, noting the monumental difference in their sizes.

Ryan ends up sitting on the edge of the neatly made bed because there’s nowhere else to sit. Sasha simply folds his body down to the floor, sitting cross-legged at Ryan’s feet. Sasha’s iPhone lies on top of the dresser next to a Beats Pill speaker. The music that emanates from the device is slow and dirge-like in it’s Southern sound; heavy piano and drum beats matched by a soulful yet pained voice.

“So how’d you score the single room?” Ryan asks, trying to make conversation.

“Apparently I have some very annoying habits that my teammates would rather I keep to myself.” Sasha answers.

“Hmm,” Ryan nods, “Understandable, I guess.” He rubs his sweaty palms against the bedspread beneath him. He can’t figure out why he feels so damn _uneasy_. Maybe it’s the close quarters. Maybe it’s the haunting music. Maybe it’s the fact that for the first time in a long time Ryan feels genuinely attracted to someone and doesn’t want to fuck it up by saying something stupid.

“So who are you rooming with?” Sasha asks.

“Matt Grevers,” Ryan answers. “You know, the really tall blonde guy who’s always smiling.”

A smile cracks across Sasha’s face as he says “Ah, yes. Him. He’s a nice person. Seems a bit wary of me, though. A lot of the swimmers are like that, to be honest.”

“I think that’s because of the epic tongue lashing you gave a certain Golden Boy back in ‘08.” Ryan concludes. “They, uh, they call you the-”

“Ice Queen,” Sasha interrupts, finishing Ryan’s sentence. “Yes, I know.”

Ryan rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward, balancing his chin of his curled fists. “Doesn’t it bother you? I mean; it’s kind of harsh, dontcha think?”

“It gets old sometimes but it keeps away the right kind of people,” Sasha answers with a dismissive wave of his delicate hand. “It also intrigues the right kind of people. After all, it looped you in.”

“That wasn’t what got me,” Ryan says honestly. “It was your voice. I’ve never heard anyone sing like that.”

“Like what?” Sasha inquires.

Ryan rubs a hand over the back of his neck where his hair is standing on end and tries to elaborate. “It was like… uh, I don’t know,” Ryan shrugs as he chooses his words. “It was like you had one breath left in your body and you were using it to sing. And not just any old song. You were singing something to make the world a more beautiful place. Even if it would only last a few seconds.”

“I’ve never heard it described like that before,” Sasha sighs. “To this day it drives my father up the wall whenever I sing in the house. He once told me I sounded like an alley cat yowling at the moon. I think what really bothers him was how much I remind him of my mother. I get my voice from her.”

“Did she, uh, pass away or something?” Ryan asks carefully.

“Or something,” Sasha says with a roll of his eyes. “She walked out on us. She worked in the Moscow Circus for a while and then she ran off to Chile with some sleazebag from the Peace Corps. That was in ‘91. My father and I immigrated to the U.S. in ‘94 and we got citizenship in 2002.”

“Sounds rough,” Ryan murmurs.

Sasha shrugs, then sighs. “That’s just how life is. Sometimes it sucks; sometimes it doesn’t. There’s no use in stressing over it. It’s best to just let things be as they are.”

“Dude,” Ryan smiles. “You might be even more laid-back than me.”

“I’m not laid back, per se,” Sasha replies. “Just realistic.”

“Speaking of, uh… realism,” Ryan says sheepishly, “how realistic are my chances of hearing you sing again?”

“It could be arranged,” Sasha’s answers, voice a bit lofty as he lifts himself up from the floor and sits beside Ryan on the bed, scooting up until his back is to the modestly designed mahogany headboard. He folds his legs Indian-style and pats the place where they cross. “Lay down,” Sasha orders softly. “Put your head here.” Ryan nods and does as he’s told, curling his body up so that his head is in Sasha’s lap and his legs aren’t hanging off the edge of the bed. It’s almost as if they’re cuddling, but not quite.

“This is- uh, a little weird,” Ryan says when Sasha’s fingers start to comb through his hair.

Sasha sighs above him, asks, “Do you want me to sing for you?”

“Yes,” Ryan says. “Very much.”

“My voice, my rules.” Sasha states matter-of-factly. “Can you handle that?”

“Yeah.” Ryan nods, unconsciously shifting closer to the smaller male.

“Okay, then,” Sasha smiles. He starts to sing along with the music that’s already playing and is soon crooning well above the voice of the artist on the track. Ryan’s mind swims as Sasha continues to drag his fingers through his hair, fingernails scritch-scratching against his scalp in a way that is so very far beyond pleasant that Ryan can’t help but melt into the touch. He feels his eyelids getting heavy and his body going lax, worries about falling asleep here and what it might mean.

He wonders if this was Sasha’s plan all along; to lure somebody, anybody, in and then use them as a pawn in some kind of nefarious game. But what good would that do? What purpose would it serve? Ryan can’t help but feel confusion bubble up inside him along with a little bit of suspicion and maybe just an inkling of fear. But then he focuses in on Sasha’s voice and everything just fades into the background.

“ _My church offers no absolution. She tells me to worship in the bedroom. The only Heaven I’ll be sent to is when I’m alone with you_.” Sasha sings in a soulful rasp, just on the gentler side of a growl. It shouldn’t sound beautiful, but it does. “ _I was born sick, but I love it. Command me to be well. Amen. Amen. Amen_.”

Ryan looks up at Sasha through groggy, half-closed eyes. He sees how the light from the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the silhouette of blonde’s head like a halo and he reaches up to touch Sasha’s face just to make sure he’s real. Ryan has to do this because everything else feels like a dream. The kind of dream you have when you’re in that limbo space between awake and asleep and you can swear to God that it's actually happening until you suddenly roll over or take a deep breath and get catapulted into consciousness. The relief that floods through Ryan’s veins when his fingertips fall against the sweeping arch of Sasha’s jawline is unfathomable.

And still Sasha sings for him, “ _Take me to church. I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life._ ”

Ryan listens to Sasha as intently as he can. He dozes off here and there, rousing every few minutes when the song changes. “M’gonna fall ‘sleep,” Ryan mumbles. Above him Sasha laughs softly.

“You just were asleep, Silly” the gymnast says. Ryan feels his body start to tingle all over and instantly knows what it means. If his head so much as brushes a pillow right now he’ll be out solid for the next seven hours.

“Gotta go back t’ my room,” Ryan slurs, trying to force his body to sit up. “Sleep in m’uh own bed.”

“It’s okay,” Sasha says carefully, as if he’s trying not to sound too eager. “You can sleep here… with me.”

“Can’t,” Ryan counters, finally sitting up. “Gotta swim t’morrow.”

“Please,” Sasha whispers, hands clutching at the hem of Ryan’s shirt. “Don’t go. Stay here. With me. Please, Ryan. Stay with me.”

Ryan intends to say no; to get up and slip on his shoes and go back to his own room, but one look into Sasha’s wide eyes and Ryan suddenly finds himself pulling back the covers of the bed and slipping beneath them. His hand searches out a pillow and he stuffs it underneath his head as Sasha turns off the music. Sasha then slips into bed beside him and flicks off the light. They both shift around for a minute before Ryan finally pulls Sasha in close and the smaller man buries his face in the curve of Ryan’s neck.

Ryan listens as Sasha’s breath evens out, a sure sign that the gymnast is asleep, and then succumbs to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Sasha sings for Ryan is "Take Me To Church" by Hozier.


End file.
